Not Tonight
by Vytina
Summary: "I love her, Bruce." He whispers, "And that…that is no mistake."


**A/N: This was a request by my friend Serenity's Ghost, who wanted to see a sequel piece to "As I Am". As promised, this is the unavoidable confrontation between master and apprentice. As two equally stubborn forces collide, the truth will inevitably be revealed, and choices are made. But for better or for worse, there will be no regrets tonight.**

**Title: Not Tonight**

**Summary: "I love her, Bruce." He whispers, "And that…that is no mistake."**

**Character(s): Terry McGinnis/Batman, Bruce Wayne**

**Rating: T for mild language  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Beyond or any associated characters. I own only the idea for this story.**

**Please leave a review! Thank you in advance!**

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><p>"<em>Oh, love that is real enough, you will find it someday. But it has one archenemy, and that is life." ~ Author Unknown<em>

His footsteps echo throughout the cave, steady slaps against the immovable rock that forms the staircase. The temperature drops as the descent brings him to the ground, where Ace is waiting for him. The dog's ears are lifted in a cheerful sign of greeting, tail swishing to and fro as he is rewarded with a good solid pet on the head. A smile quirks the corners of Terry's mouth as he proceeds towards the back corner, where his evening attire awaits patiently. Ace follows him; this has become a new habit as of late, but Terry doesn't mind it. Any differences he once had with the dog have been settled. Now, he welcomes company, and if time permitted it, he would allow himself to enjoy the animal's companionship a little while longer. But now is not the time. He has previous engagements to attend.

"McGinnis."

Terry's stride comes to an abrupt halt, his face bearing a grimace at the crisp tone of his mentor. The old man's hearing has not yet failed him.

"Yes?" he offers, hoping to sound as innocent as possible. Perhaps if he pleads innocent, he'll be let off with a shorter lecture.

"We need to talk."

Those are definitely Terry's least favorite words, especially when strung together in a sentence, and _definitely_ when they are coming from Bruce's mouth.

"I should get going." He makes one last bid for freedom. Maybe demonstrating his commitment to the job will get him off this time (and the next five times, if he's lucky). And the statement isn't entirely a lie; he does have things to do—mainly the primary areas of investigation to be scoured for any unsavory activity. If Fate is in a good mood tonight, he'll only have to deal with a little breaking-and-entering in the South District, and then be off for the night. He doesn't want to waste anymore time with the underground of Gotham than he has to. Not tonight.

"_Now, McGinnis._"

Another grimace, and he slowly turns back toward the monitor. Normally, the expansive size of it makes the old man seem small, but as he draws closer to the chair, Bruce starts to seem unnervingly large. Even with his body hunched with age, there is no mistaking the old vestiges of power that still demand respect—especially from him, the apprentice.

"Yes, Bruce?" he hopes the return to innocence will save him tonight, but when Bruce turns to face him, he knows there will be no such luck this time. A mouth already lined with age is set heavy with a scowl, thick brows drawn together in the center of his forehead over narrowed eyes. There is no mistaking that expression; the questioning will now commence.

Still, he tries to remain calm and collected. The innocent face won't work on Bruce—now even less than other times—so maybe a simple bit of respect will serve him well right now. Naturally, his mentor demands it on a regular basis, but now it may be more imperative than ever. "What do we need to talk about?"

"What do we need to talk about," Bruce repeats the question back to him, but it is not a question this time—not that it would be any easier to listen to if it _were_ a question. "We need to talk about you, McGinnis. That is what we need to talk about."

Here it comes. He fights back the urge to cringe. "Me?"

"Yes, you." The elder nods, fingers tapping very slowly, very deliberately against the arm of his chair. In the silence of the cave, the sound is decidedly unnerving. It is times like this where Terry remembers just how talented Bruce can be with interrogation techniques. Naturally, he wishes he were observing this particular skill on another person _other than_ himself.

"What about me?"

"You're leaving for your evening patrol considerably earlier than you used to."

"Well, you said you wanted—"

"You report back to the cave considerably _later_ than you used to," Bruce cuts over him, paying no mind to what was being said (it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway), "_If_, that is, you bother to come back at all."

"I try to go home more oft—"

"And you have developed this curious habit of turning your transponder off during certain, long-lived periods of your patrol." Again, he is interrupted without prelude. Again, he is scrutinized by a pair of eyes that have broken many a man into little tiny pieces. It will take more willpower than he's ever used before to not follow suite tonight. "Now, would you like to _tell_ me what is going on, or do I have to keep asking questions?"

Technically, Bruce hasn't actually _asked_ a question, but Terry is neither careless nor stupid enough to point that out. He doesn't want to hear another fifteen minute lecture about being a smart-ass, and he definitely doesn't want this to turn into a real interrogation. He wouldn't last five minutes.

But that doesn't mean he is going to sit back and be lectured like a child. Not tonight.

"What's going on," he answers while turning back for the dressing area—time is precious now that ten (maybe fifteen) minutes has already been wasted, "is that I am keeping up with my responsibilities to Gotham—and you—while also allowing myself the rare luxury of a relationship. That's all."

"_Dana_ is keeping you out at all hours, is she?" there is a displeased note to his voice, which could have only been expected. Terry knows he never really approved of her—or maybe he just didn't approve of any relationship taking attention away from Batman's duties.

"Dana and I broke it off—for good." Maybe he doesn't need to add the last part, but he does anyway. He doesn't want Bruce reminding him of how often he and Dana have ended their relationship, only to restart it again (and again and again) two weeks later.

As he begins the rather tedious process of dressing in the suit, he can practically feel Bruce's eyes narrowing, glaring at him through the screen. "And were you ever going to see fit to introduce me to this mystery woman, McGinnis?"

A sharp and rather impolite reply is on the tip of his tongue. For the sake of time and civility, he bites it back and instead focuses on the task at hand. "No, I wasn't." It's definitely not a lie to say that; he has never held any intentions of introducing her, at least not to Bruce.

"Why not?" the elder is making attempts to keep himself calm and refined, but the dangerous edge to his voice is growing stronger, more defined. His patience is fraying.

Terry forces himself to draw in a deep breath, trying to keep his admittedly short temper in check. There is no need to waste energy being angry. Not tonight.

Tonight is going to be different.

"Because my relationship with her has absolutely no bearing or impact on how I do my job. Therefore, I didn't consider something you needed to know."

"If there is even the slightest chance it will affect how you do your job," the old man's patience is hanging by a thin, rapidly fraying thread, "It is something I need to know. _Who is it, McGinnis_?"

He could lie. It would be easy to lie, and if he was convincing enough about it, Bruce would probably believe him—at least long enough for him to get away. There are plenty of girls from school, any one of which he could easily name and concoct some passable tale of young lovers—the cliché of it all made him slightly nauseous.

But that would imply that he is ashamed. And he is not—is _not_—ashamed of her. There is no more reason to hide away, to make lies and excuses.

Not tonight. Not ever again.

"My relationship with Melanie has nothing to do with you or this job, Bruce." For a moment, he allows himself to feel pride, to feel even the tiniest sense of triumph. There—he said it, and there is no shame or fear in what he has said. It is the truth, plain and simple. He will not allow Bruce to rip that away from him.

Not tonight.

A silence falls heavy over the cave. He would not be surprised if he could hear a car alarm go off clear on the other side of the city. Ace shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. He can't blame the poor dog; even he is a bit on edge, waiting for the final blow to fall.

But he won't break. Not tonight.

"The Walker girl." It isn't a question, but a statement. More than anything, it is a testament to the displeasure steadily dripping from every word. He can feel the tension weighing heavier than before in the air, just waiting to shatter and erupt into nothing short of a disaster. Now would be a very good time for him to run—take his leave as fast as he possibly can and leave this discussion for another day.

But he won't. Not tonight.

"Her name is Melanie," Terry says quietly, stepping out as he adjusts the glove over his right hand, "Not _the Walker girl_."

To his small credit, Bruce appears to be regaining some self-control, but it is rapidly dwindling. However long it is before he snaps, it won't be _long_. His fingers are clenched too tight around the arm of his chair, his spine set too rigid and stiff. He releases a slow breath, eyes closing briefly before snapping back to Terry's face. "And how, exactly, do you explain having to disappear at night, Terry? Using the same excuses you did with Dana?"

He checks his belt for the necessary tools, using the brief silence to formulate a response. He knows what he _wants_ to say, of course—a disrespectful and sharp-tongued comment that will undoubtedly earn him some serious reprimands. He holds it back, but only barely. Tonight, he must choose his words more carefully. But he must also tell the truth…no matter how frightening it is to consider.

His eyes abruptly squeeze closed, blocking out the fear, the hesitation. This was exactly how he'd felt that night, standing there with her on the rooftop. He could remember it so clearly, even now after nearly a full month has passed—the race of his heart as her fingers touched his mask, seeking the face that lay beneath it, wanting the truth more than anything in that moment. She had been so unafraid, so determined to know who he was. She had wanted him; he'd seen it in her eyes as clear as anything. And even now, she is not afraid of the consequences—she has promised it to him, whispering those words to him as often as he asks to hear it from her.

He will not be afraid this time. Not tonight.

"I don't have to make excuses to her." Terry answers quietly, turning to face his mentor, resolved and determined. "She knows where I go at night."

The chair gives a protesting shriek as Bruce abruptly stands, his hand tight around the cane. A sudden streak of fear coursed through him, but he held his ground, unwilling to back down now. He is not ashamed of anything he had said, and certainly not of anything he was doing. He won't cower now, no matter what.

Not tonight.

"You told her?" Bruce's voice is shaking now. There is no mistaking the answer in his voice now. "You _told_ her?"

"Yes, I did."

"I do not believe this…" the old man ran his hand wildly through the thick strands of grey hair, leaving a uncharacteristically mussed appearance in its wake, "Telling Dana is one thing, McGinnis, but you tell _her_? You tell a career criminal _who you are_?"

"She's not a criminal." His voice is strained with the effort to not yell. "She has turned her life around, left her family behind her. She has a new life now."

"So she says."

A spurt of anger licks through his nerves, "She's telling the truth. I've watched her, talked with her. I know she's on the straight and narrow, Bruce, and I won't let you make her out to be a liar."

"Have you completely lost your mind?" the elder stands only a foot away from him now, blue eyes piercing and glowering as they look upon the younger male, "What were you thinking—_were_ you thinking at all? Of all the people you had to open your mouth to, you had to pick—"

"This is _not_ about opening my mouth to some stranger." Terry returns, eyes flashing—remarkably similar to the ones staring him down right now. "This is about me taking some control over my life."

"Batman _is_ your life now, Terry." The distance was closed, leaving mere inches between them. "This is not some job you can take vacation time from whenever you feel like it. You make a commitment to this city, and you keep that commitment. You can't just drop it because some girl—"

"She is not _some girl_." He snapped, "And I am not forgetting _or_ dropping my commitment to this city, Bruce. I am finally letting myself trust someone enough to let them into my life, and during this past month, I have been the happiest I can ever remember being in my _life_. She doesn't care who I am and she doesn't care what I do. I don't have to keep secrets anymore…I don't have to lie because the truth might take her away from me. I know she'll stay with me…no matter what."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Bruce sounds incredulous—an odd combination with the fury meshed across his features, "You sound like some love-struck fool, Terry. If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times—there is _no_ place for that here! You focus on the job. _That is it_! You do not have time to be living two different lives!"

"Don't you get it?" his anger is clear now, and there is really no point in trying to hide it now. "I _do_ live two different lives, Bruce! And she is the only person who knows what it is like to live that way, to have to balance two identities while steadily becoming confused as to which one is your _real_ identity—to be confused who you _really_ are. And it feels so good to have _someone_ finally _**understand**_ that!"

"You honestly believe she understands, Terry?" the old man's voice has lowered to a whisper—a dangerous turn that can only spell out further trouble. "You actually believe that? She is a _con_. She was raised to act this way—to manipulate people into hearing what they want to hear, and seeing what they want to see in her. She has played this kind of game _all_ her life, and you're just playing _right_ into her hands!"

"You're wrong." He whispers, shaking. The anger and frustration is painful to contain, but Terry knows he must, at least for a little while longer. He cannot lose control now, not when he has made such progress and come so far, all in the span of less than an hour. He will not break, no matter how hard Bruce pushes him.

_Not_ tonight.

"Am I?" Bruce replies, his blue eyes piercing, searing down at his apprentice. "You are letting your emotions get the better of you and cloud your judgment. I made that mistake once, Terry, and it was the biggest mistake I ever made. And by God, I will not let you make the same one. End this _now_, before it's too late."

A silence falls between them once again. Ace shifts nervously on the ground beside Terry's feet, the latter willing the anger and rage to leave him. It has no place here now, not when he knows the truth—even if Bruce isn't willing to accept it as truth, not now and perhaps not ever. Either way, it doesn't matter. Bruce _is_ wrong about her, and always has been wrong. And unlike last time, Terry will not allow himself to be swayed. He will not make the same mistake again.

Never again…and especially not tonight.

"I have made no mistake." Terry whispers, lifting his chin high to meet his mentor's scrutinizing gaze. "Every single night, I put my life on the line out there, without question and without hesitation. Every single night, I have done what I promised to do and have _never_ failed you or Gotham. And every single night—until now—I've had to go home and keep my mouth shut about everything. Any injuries I got have to be kept quiet, passed off with excuses and lies. Anything I've seen that disturbed me has to be kept secret, locked away somewhere that I won't ever think about it again. I live a whole other life every single day and every single night, and I can't share it with anyone. But I can share it with _her_, Bruce. I can bring her into my world."

He can feel it now—the release that comes from letting out his emotions, from finally admitting the truth to his employer and mentor. There is some pain, mainly from the way he can feel Bruce's displeasure still lingering in the silence between them. But there is something else—something not quite borne of anger or fury, but something that almost seems tame, perhaps awe or admiration. Terry would not dare hope for it now, not after he has so brazenly dashed and destroyed the very code which Bruce has set down for Batman's rules. But neither will he believe that Bruce feels only anger toward him.

Not tonight.

"I am not going to throw away this one last chance to have some happiness in my life." Terry says, taking the mask in hand and facing Bruce once more. "If you don't like it, that's fine. But remember that I am not making a mistake, and I won't let you try to convince me otherwise." A pause follows, and then he draws the mask over his face. The fabric is cool but tight, and already he eagerly awaits the moment when he can remove it again.

"I love her, Bruce." He whispers, "And that is no mistake."

He can feel the elder's eyes on him as he moves for the back of the cave, toward his evening transportation and what the night will bring for him. The next time he has to face Bruce will not be pleasant, but he refuses to allow himself to fear that moment. He does not and will not regret what he has said tonight.

More importantly, he now knows what he must do once his duties have run their course, once he is finally free of Batman's responsibilities to the city. The midnight hour cannot come quickly enough.

Not tonight.


End file.
